


What We Are

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-15
Updated: 2009-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's holding a knife, pale and strange and silver, and he's never seen it before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Are

  
It's too hot in the unfamiliar room, sweat curls down the back of Dean's neck like a living thing. The air smells sharp and strange, like oranges and death.

The woman stood near the low table, small, dark-haired and unfamiliar, has his full attention.

He was trying to kill her an hour ago.

But he can't remember why.

Something moves at his feet and he turns his head, finds the kneeling shape of a man, pale and slim, hands pressed to the wet floor. He's bent into them like he's fallen there, like he was _forced_ there. Though Dean doesn't remember- doesn’t know how that happened.

Castiel, his brain provides, though it's an absent, disconnected, word that means nothing.

"You know what to do don't you Dean?" The woman's voice is quiet and soft.

Dean's holding a knife, pale and strange and silver, and he's never seen it before.

She coaxes him, with eyes and smiles, to lower a hand.

He slides his fingers into Castiel's hair, catches it in a tight grip. Which gets him no more than a soft, strained inhale.

"That's right, that's it." She's pleased, so he knows it's right, knows this is what he's supposed to do.

He eases Castiel's head back, just a little, exposing the long line of his throat, petal-soft under his wrist when he slides the knife into place, and there's a quiver-catch of uncertainty in his skin. A sense of wrongness.

He thinks, briefly, that he should be the one on his knees, the one bleeding.

 _Because that's the way it always goes._

"It will be easy, Dean, easy in this room, in this room he's just a man, he's just a man like you."

There's a shine of blood on Castiel's teeth, a strange smear of red that curls onto his lip, wet and vibrant and alive. It jars in a way Dean doesn't understand, so does the way Castiel's eyes are bright and dark at the same time, familiar in a way that slides across every nerve, makes the knife twitch at his throat, barely denting the skin but it's so sharp, so fucking sharp, and it shines in the light.

Bright enough to kill an-

 _"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."_

"You'll be free, Dean," the woman says quietly, tiny footsteps on stone, as she drifts around the room. "You'll be free of all influence. You can do whatever you want. You can _have_ whatever you want. All you have to do is kill him." Her voice is a low purr of promise, and he doesn’t remember where he knows her from, or why she's here, but he knows she's absolutely telling the truth, knows that she wouldn't lie. "Kill him for me, Dean."

Dean's fingers dig in, and he pulls Castiel's head back, watches his eyes flutter, watches the pale curve of his mouth bleed.

"Dean," Castiel says simply, voice soft and deep and rough and he knows it like he knows his own blood.

"Kill him."

 _"I did it all for you."_

Like he knows his own fucking heartbeat.

Dean knows what he has to do.

He takes the shining knife and he turns on the witch.


End file.
